Why Hitler Fell
Adolf Hitler wasn’t a happy man. Storming his way through the building, he shoved doors roughly, leaving them hanging from their hinges, kicked chairs aside and almost punched a hole in a wall. He was angered by the lack of respect shown by the civilians when he had been orating at the square just outside his office. After his speech (and enduring several assorted items being thrown at him), he stalked into his office, then made his way for his swivel chair. Swivelling in his swivel chair always helped to take his mind off things. Especially the lack of respect. This would not be tolerated anymore, he decided. A scheme started taking form in his mind and a faint trace of a smile appeared. He would become the Fuhrer. Then he would have all the power. And no one would dare disrespect him anymore. He would hire someone, a scientist preferably, to create a slow-acting poison to kill the president… Yes, he would. Getting up from the chair, he got up to grab a piece of paper. Unbidden, a gust of wind blew in from the open window, and out flew several pieces of paper. Cursing softly under his breath, he bent down to pick the papers up, only to tread on a slippery piece of paper and go sliding like a skater. “AHHHHHH!” he screamed as he started skating around his large office, arms windmilling in a vain attempt to stop. But he couldn’t. So he went like that, his polished shoe on the piece of paper, looking absolutely like an ice-skater who was skating while trying to do a bridge and keep his balance. The horrid wind did nothing to alleviate the situation. A few seconds passed and turned into a single minute – – just before he slammed into the cabinet. The Fuhrer to be stopped abruptly, mid-skate, then crumpled to the ground. Moaning, his hand scrabbled at his nose, which had taken most of the impact with the stupid cabinet. More curses erupted from this man as he slowly got up, hand on the cabinet to support himself. He groaned, rubbing his hip where it had kissed the floor so endearingly and wished not to be parted with its soul mate, the floor. Out of nowhere, a click sounded. Hitler turned, only to see one of his colleagues leaning against the door, holding a camera. “You…” he raged, pointing a finger at him. “How could you?” His colleague laughed. “You looked so comical, Adolf. I couldn’t resist le temptation…” Hitler’s face reddened as he started striding towards the door. His colleague merely raised an eyebrow as Hitler stepped on a banana peel, so ingeniously placed on the floor by him, and slipped again. However, this time, Hitler knew what to do. As he passed by the evil cabinet, he grabbed its side and used it to hoist himself upright. He started swearing, and walked over to the enemy with small, careful steps, as if the office floor itself was a minefield. Which it probably was, seeing that papers were strewn everywhere. His colleague turned and bolted, stopping at a distance not quite far. Hitler was too meticulous to hurry, carefully stepping onwards. “The Fuhrer to be will not be insulted!” he gasped, his face now fully red. “Long live the Fuhrer!” mocked his colleague. But that was not to be. A shot rang out. Glass shattered. A bullet pierced through skin and bone. A nervous system collapsed. Brain damage occurred. Profuse bleeding. And death. Death of Adolf Hitler, assassinated by one who saw him skate, just opposite the building. Category:Humor Category:Oneshot